


Set To Detect Language

by the_aesthetic_of_happiness



Series: the crimeful contempire [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Airports, Kissing, Language Barrier, M/M, Mafia NCT, Making Out, One Shot, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aesthetic_of_happiness/pseuds/the_aesthetic_of_happiness
Summary: if Dongyoung was going to be flying back home tomorrow, then there was no reason why he couldn't kiss attractive strangers while he was here.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: the crimeful contempire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790509
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Set To Detect Language

**Author's Note:**

> hi there,  
> this is set in the crime world universe of my longass noren fic, [Crimeful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933069/chapters/54817396), but it also works as a standalone
> 
> hehe i wrote this cuz the ao3 tag for doyu is dry

The first night Dongyoung arrived in Los Angeles was simultaneously the worst and best night of his life.

The move had been sudden. There hadn’t been much of a warning—just an email from his boss saying Dongyoung was scheduled to transfer to a new office approximately seven thousand miles away from home.

“Are you firing me?” Dongyoung asked.

“I’m relocating you,” his boss said.

“So . . . you’re firing me.”

“Don’t use that tone. Just get on the plane and send me monthly updates. Or don’t, I don’t care. Your new boss is named Lee and he speaks Korean, so you’ll be right at home.”

“Alright, then,” Dongyoung muttered, at this point not trying to hide how pissed he was at being uprooted from his home and sent across the world to a foreign country.

It wasn’t like it was a nowhere destination. Not like some of his unluckier coworkers, who were sent to obscure islander mafia chains. The Los Angeles contempire of New America was a famous place, home to Hollywood and drug lords and postcard beaches and glamour and corruption. Dongyoung had never thought he’d see it with his own eyes. He was a small town guy, one who’d lived in the same house his whole life and had never learned English because he thought he would never have to.

The airport was overwhelming. As soon as Dongyoung stumbled off his sixteen-hour flight, he was swept by a barrage of sensations: the incessant thunder of people’s suitcases rolling against the floor, the plethora of plasma lights coming from gift shops chock-full of Californian T-shirt merchandise, the smell of greasy meat frying in the burger restaurant near his gate. 

It was all too much. He needed the bathroom but all of the airport holo-maps wouldn’t stay still long enough for him to read them—their screens kept shifting to advertise milkshakes or airlines rewards services. Dongyoung pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the closest one before its screen could change.

He found a quiet corner of his gate and zoomed in on the photo to see it better. He hoped the English-to-Korean dictionary he’d read through on the plane would be of some assistance.

But by the time he had deciphered the holo-board, found the bathroom, and used the same photo process to find the baggage claim and pick up his bags there, he was left at a loss of what to do next. He’d been told there was supposed to be someone here to pick him up and take him to headquarters, but his gate was practically empty. No one was waiting for him.

Dongyoung slid into a seat at the bar and let out an enormous sigh.

He sat there for a while, wondering why his life was so abysmal and debating the notion of hopping back on a flight to New Korea. He’d tell his boss that he’d never wanted to be transferred and would rather just resign from the mafia business altogether. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him—the only friend Dongyoung had in all of the mob circles was the janitor. 

Someone cleared their throat nearby, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

A tall young man had slid into the adjacent seat. He wore a bulky leather jacket and his shoulder-length hair was artfully tousled, his dark eyes slightly tilted up at the corners. It gave him a stifling  _ pretty boy _ vibe that was unlike anything that Dongyoung had seen before, not counting animes.

When he noticed Dongyoung watching, he gave a small smirk. 

_ Well, well, well,  _ Dongyoung thought. If he was going to be flying back to New Korea tomorrow . . . _ then there’s no reason why I can’t kiss attractive strangers while I’m here. _

The stranger said something in a language that was neither Korean nor English. Dongyoung gave him an apologetic shrug, took out his phone, and used it to pull up an auditory translator set to Detect Language.

He held the phone out invitingly.

The conversation that followed was stilted, especially with them waiting in between sentences for the auditory translator to cache what they were saying and then spit it back out in each of their respective languages. It took him fifteen minutes to learn that the stranger’s name was Yuta, the only language he knew was Japanese, and he was here at the airport because he’d been stood up hours ago.

Also, he said he was impressed with Dongyoung’s hairstyle.

Dongyoung self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. He’d done it on the plane; it was just a few mini braids, tied off with colorful beads. 

The stranger reached up and touched one of the braids. When Dongyoung didn’t shift away, he pushed his fingers into Dongyoung’s hair, carding through the beads gently and tugging him closer.

_ Alright _ , Dongyoung thought.  _ Smooth. _

Without breaking eye contact with Dongyoung, the stranger bit his own bottom lip, then released it, slowly. No one needed an auditory translator to understand that sort of signal. 

Dongyoung let himself lean in the rest of the way, closing the distance. 

Yuta kissed  _ slowly _ , patiently, parting Dongyoung’s lips with his tongue and exploring the soft recesses of Dongyoung’s mouth. His hand was warm in his hair, fingers applying gentle pressure. Dongyoung let out a soft noise and leaned in more. 

They kissed for an interminable amount of time, until the bartender tapped Yuta on the shoulder and asked if they relocate to someplace less public. They moved into a discreet hallway and continued there.

Dongyoung had had countless boyfriends and girlfriends, but none of them kissed as good as Yuta.

_ At least I’ll have one good memory of Los Angeles,  _ he thought, pressed against the wall with Yuta’s body flush against his, his hands still in his hair, their warm breath mingling in the shared space.  _ This isn’t so bad. _

The stranger murmured something in Japanese against Dongyoung’s jaw. The audio translator, which he’d forgotten to turn off, picked it up: “What’s your name?”

Dongyoung’s laugh was husky. He’d forgotten to introduce himself.

Something else in Japanese. Dongyoung didn’t know what it was, but it sounded sexy. He closed his eye at the sensation of Yuta sucking a mark onto the flesh of his neck.

“Kim. I’m Kim Dongyoung.” 

All at once, Yuta stopped. Took his mouth away from Dongyoung’s neck and receded half a pace, peering at Dongyoung with an odd amused, confused expression.

“Why?” Dongyoung said, his voice a whisper.

Now it was Yuta’s turn to chuckle. He pulled a small notecard from his pocket and held it out.

Dongyoung took it and read it over.

It was a short letter, written in Korean.  _ Welcome to Los Angeles, Kim. This is one of my men, Nakamota Yuta; he'll take you to headquarters, where I’ll be waiting.  _

The bottom of the note had the elegant signature of Lee Taeyong. 

Dongyoung lowered the note in disbelief.

Yuta gave a graceful shrug.

_ I just made out with one of my coworkers,  _ Dongyoung thought, fevered.

Yuta’s next words were translated by the phone: “If you’re going to apologize, don’t.” He smiled. “I’m not sorry.”

“Then . . . I guess neither am I,” Dongyoung said. The audio translator repeated it in cheerful Japanese.

Yuta took his suitcase, and gestured for him to follow.

They rode a taxi to the mafia headquarters. Dongyoung apologized for standing Yuta up, or at least, making it seem like it. Yuta laughed and shook his head and said that it was his fault—he’d seen Dongyoung exit the plane, but he’d taken one look at the plethora of stickers on Dongyoung’s suitcase and wrote him off as the farthest thing from the mafia member he was told he’d be there to pick up. Owning Pusheen stickers, Yuta said, made people look like the furthest thing from criminals.

“I am a criminal,” Dongyoung said, straightening. “Just, one who deals in paperwork.” He’d been out in the field before, when he’d dealt in drugs and dirty money, but he didn’t really prefer that type of work. 

“Paperwork  _ is _ criminal, that’s true,” Yuta said.

Dongyoung wasn’t sure if the translator had gotten what he’d said right, if the pun had been intentional or not, but the sparkle in Yuta’s eyes was enough to tell him it didn’t matter.

He’d heard a lot about Lee Taeyong. He was a formidable man, but it didn’t look like he had any problem with Dongyoung arriving a few hours later than scheduled. When they arrived at the main room of the headquarters, where Taeyong was chilling on the couch, the boss just lowered his phone and quirked his eyebrow at the pair of them.

Dongyoung felt his gaze rest pointedly on his neck and the mark there that was currently in the process of swelling a pretty purple. 

“I don’t really have a explanation,” Dongyoung spoke up hesitantly.

Taeyong grinned. His Korean was flawless. “Yuta’s shit-eating smile is enough explanation for me. I think he’s taken a liking to you.”

Dongyoung flushed as dark as his hickey. Taeyong repeated what he’d said in Japanese, for Yuta’s benefit, and Yuta’s smile grew bigger.

“You’re okay with it?” Dongyoung asked Taeyong. He figured it was a worthwhile question, seeing as his old boss hadn’t let any of his employees even make suggestive eyes at each other.

“Okay with you and Yuta messing around? Sure, doesn’t matter. My squadrons are suckers for romantic drama,” Taeyong said. “I’m pretty sure Ryujin and Chaeryeong have gotten together and broken up at least three times in the past year. And the Hwang twins are serial daters with just about all the other kids in the building.” He shook his head. “Funny that they’re all still school age. Talk about teenage heartthrobs, huh?”

When doing his research on Lee Taeyong’s affiliates, Dongyoung  _ had _ heard of the infamous Yeji and her brother, Hyunjin, as well as each of their respective troops. Taeyong was rumored to be pretty friendly with his faculty and staff. But everyone knew Taeyong was already deeply romantically involved in an established relationship with the renowned entrepreneur Jung Jaehyun—a power couple, if Dongyoung had ever seen one.

“Do your employees perhaps speak Korean?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re fluent. But I want you to learn English,” Taeyong said. “Alright?”

Dongyoung nodded. “Alright.”

“That’s Korean. I don’t want any of that. The whole point is immersion.”

“Alright,” Dongyoung said, this time in English. He struggled to form the R—it came out as an L. He tried again, failed, and settled for an easier word: “Okay.”

“Good,” Taeyong said, and waved them off.

Yuta took Dongyoung up to his room. They shared a secret smile before Dongyoung shut the bedroom door. After taking a quick shower, he changed into his favorite silk pajamas, poured himself a glass of the champagne he’d smuggled here from home, and settled down to enjoy it. He was really, really glad that he hadn’t decided to fly back to Korea.

Being uprooted from his home had left him a mess, but in time he would put himself back together again. A little language barrier had never stopped him before, had it? He had the feeling that he and Yuta would have a  _ lot _ of fun times together from here on out. 

“Welcome to America,” he whispered to himself, taking a sip of his champagne. “Welcome to a new life.”

**Author's Note:**

> this oneshot was sitting in my closet for months and it's nowhere near as long as my normal work, but instead of just letting it go to waste i thought i might as well post it
> 
> if u want more doyu then check out my fic crimeful! unless u came here from crimeful in which case lmao u rock
> 
> ~ Yerin 061620
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/_regret_me_not)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/_regret_me_not)


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